The Dreams of Twilight
by m1blue
Summary: Edward gains two new friends in the forms of Gothique and Matilda.  Their names alone should make you want to read.  And, strangly enough, I seem to have stumbled across a plot of some sort.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Disclaimed. What little that is recognizable is copyrighted by Tim Burton, Caroline Thompson, Fox and so on.

* * *

Gothique was sent to live in Suburbia with her aunt under protest. Joyce had greeted her with smiles and sunshine and very, very bright colours. If her lenses weren't transition, Gothique was quite sure she would have gone blind. As it were, they were tinted to seem nearly black at a distance almost constantly.

There was one small blemish on Suburbia, of which Gothique frequently rested her tired eyes. It was, of all things, a large castle. Whenever she seemed to even begin to broach the subject of the abandoned building, Joyce would primly tell her not to be stupid: it wasn't a castle; it was a mansion, and that was that.

Therefore, it only made sense for Gothique to ponder exploring it through the school hours and cheerleader practice (apparently, they were quite relieved to have a new one as another one, Kim, had moved away recently). She pondered and pondered until she got up the courage to impulsively go up there. That meant packing a survival kit.

Come one sunny Saturday, Gothique exchanged her slippers for some grungy, duct taped sneakers, and changed her wardrobe to a more outdoorsie pair of slacks and white dress shirt, she not being the type to own actual, normal clothing. Strewn on her dresser were a bundle of crumpled tissues, a flashlight, pens and paper, and several types of granola bars. Through sheer force of will she stuffed them all into her purse.

"I'm going out, Aunt Joyce!" she yelled to the house in general, not knowing where Joyce was.

"What?!" came the shocked and rather disbelieving voice of her aunt a door down, in the kitchen. "Where to? With whom?" She poked her fiery head into the hall. "And wearing that? You're not very good at the whole affected nonchalant thing, are you?"

Gothique shifted from foot to foot. "You heard me. Just out to wander the neighbourhood and such. Alone, everyone else lives in town. Yes. No -- I mean yes -- er. . . what was the last one?"

Joyce tapped a long fingernail on her temple knowingly. "You can't fool me. You are not allowed to go to that dusty, creepy mansion, okay?"

This caused Gothique to frown. In the ensuing silence, tires could be heard turning into Joyce's driveway. "Who's that?" she asked evasively. Fortunately, Joyce didn't object to the new topic.

"The plumber, again," Joyce giggled.

"Then oughtn't I be getting out of your way?"

Joyce mulled it over for a moment before speaking. "Go visit that new family -- the Henrys? Harvards? Oh, whatever. Just don't get into trouble. Now scat!" Joyce said, making shooing motions with her hands. It wasn't like she was the girl's actual parents, so she didn't bother pretending to be.

Gothique apparently had very selective hearing as the moment she was out the back door, she went into the next yard over then made a round-about to go to the cast-- mansion. She found that what at once seemed like a full-fledged expedition was actually an afternoon stroll and some minor breaking-and-entering. Not one to appreciate beauty in any sophisticated manner, she didn't bother to contemplate the symbolism of the hedge statues, especially the one with the upturned hand. No symbolism to be found. Then, it occurred to her that someone with shears had to have done this, and no sane person would trim another's hedges without payment. It meant only one thing: there was a lunatic with sharp things somewhere, more than likely somewhere nearby.

. The sound of metal wedge against metal wedge reached her ears upon this revelation. Oh god, she had interrupted his hedge-art hour! That sounded more like something found on PBS than something a psycho, ax murderer would participate in, she thought in the less terrified part of her mind. Alas, Gothique somewhat doubted that a camera crew was up there with her. 

Her hands flew to cover her mouth, because she was a curs'ed mouth-breather, and a loud one at that. Her hearing wasn't quite up to par, either, and she couldn't find the direction of the snips. They seemed in fact to circle her like vultures, or starved sharks, or something equally terrible. Gothique backtracked quietly, feeling lightheaded and breathless as she was essentially smothering herself for the sake of silence.

Her knee hit the snipper first as she passed a stone bench. Without even glancing down, Gothique leapt backward, shrieking, "Jesus H. Christ!" The snipper jumped, head knocking against the bottom of the bench. Gothique, in a slightly less eloquent fashion, stumbled backwards over a decorative rock and conked her head on the thick base of a sculpted bush.

Poor Edward was beyond confused when he slunk from the house to investigate the scream only to find two girls unconscious and/or dead in the courtyard. A sun shower began sprinkling down on the three.

* * *

A/N: I honestly have no excuse for this. It's all very cobbled together, so inconsistencies abound. Flames accepted and probably deserved; reviews appreciated; concrit loved. 


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Disclaimed. What little that is recognizable is copyrighted by Tim Burton, Caroline Thompson, Fox and so on.

* * *

This woke Gothique first, as she was completely exposed. Edward ducked behind a preening cat bush as she sat up, clutching her head. After a few moments of blinking up at the sky, she stood, brushing her palms on her slacks. Then, Gothique began examining the lower torso of the girl under the bench. She nudged her bare leg with a foot, careful not to get shoe prints on her skirt. 

"Hey," she said after coming to the conclusion that kicking her would overall be a bad idea to wake her. "Get up."

In response, the girl groaned and shifted about a bit, froze, then wiggled backwards. She got to her knees, then stood entirely, swaying a bit. Gothique leapt back as she weaved her scissors toward her accidentally. "Oops."

Before they could come around again, Gothique snatched the pair from her hands and dropped them on the ground. "Yeah, 'oops' when you maim me!"

"I think I have a concussion," the girl said smartly, raising her now free hand to the back of her head. Gothique took this moment to observe her more thoroughly. The rainwater was rapidly turning her honey locks into brown straggles, and she had a complexion no person in Suburbia had any right to have, almost the colour of milk. Now, Gothique thought that she safely fit the definition of a girly girl, but this person seemed the kin-- queen of that hill.

While she looked the girl over, the girl did the same to her. Only, her eyes seemed more focused on Gothique's chest. "Are those smiley faces?" she asked in a snooty voice. Gothique blushed and crossed her arms protectively over the now nearly transparent front of her shirt.

"Who are you?" she asked, instead.

The girl crossed her arms in a much more sardonic manner, somehow, and huffed as though giving out personal information to the common folk was a chore. "Matilda Hedera."

"I thought it was Henry?"

Matilda shook her weighted curls and knelt daintily to gather her scissors. "Everyone keeps --"

Gothique uncrossed her arms and peered down. "What?"

"There's a man on the other side of that bush."

Edward shifted from foot to foot, realizing he had been caught eavesdropping. He contemplated running, but also had the niggling urge to stay put and meet them. The short time spent with the Boggs had given him a longing for human contact, and while neither of these girls could compare to his Kim (not by a long shot), they both knew he was here already. In fact, he vaguely recalled seeing someone akin to Matilda here before.

While he was lost in musing, the girls took it upon themselves to choose for him. After all, two teenaged girls were more than a match for one psychopath. Gothique had taken charge of Matilda's scissors just in case that theory didn't pan out. As they both leaned over the bush, Gothique a head or so taller than Matilda, the latter girl quipped, "Gee-whiz, somehow I doubt our dinky pair of scissors quite match up to his."

From Matilda's apparent apathy toward life Gothique gained courage. When Edward turned to regard them with beetle-black eyes, she asked, "Are you from the local scene?" She would just throw her new-found companion between them if he took offense.

He 'shink'ed his scissors, slightly confused. "Scene?" he asked quietly.

Matilda stepped out completely from behind the bushes, leaving Gothique to stumble behind her. Straightening, Gothique began, "Yeah, the local Goth -- oh, never mind. If you don't know what it is, you're probably not."

It seemed appropriate for Matilda to add something snarky here (the sun shower had even stopped for it, it seemed), but she had just observed something else. This something was a something Gothique had somehow managed to miss. She elbowed her and nodded at the something while Edward shifted uncomfortably under the blatant scrutiny.

All was silent as Gothique processed this turn of events. "Oh, my god! You're holding a ton of scissors!" Edward frowned uncertainly and took a step back, while Matilda rolled her eyes. Gothique was not an exceptionally observant creature. She got closer to the mark on her second try, though. "Oh, my god! You're not _holding_ them; you're wearing them!"

To prevent further stupidity spewing forth, Matilda interrupted. "Who are you?"

"My name's Edward," he said in that same quiet voice. With more words spoken, though, there was a definite hint of hesitation. Understandable, given that he was faced with two very loud, very strange girls.

"Matilda Hedera," said Matilda, curtsying.

"Gothique Smith." She was all smiles and sunshine (it was a family thing) as soon as the fear of being lacerated had dissipated. Edward bowed his head a little to the two, ever the gentleman.

Matilda snorted, one hand raising to cover her mouth.

"What?" Gothique asked, glaring at her. Edward shrugged cluelessly, though nobody was looking at him anymore. It felt nice in a strange way to be brushed momentarily to the side as the two had a tiff; it was almost like he was perfectly normal.

"Gothic's your real name? It can't be," Matilda said, failing to stifle the giggles.

"It's pronounced Goth-iek, like shriek --"

"Or like a mouse: eeekeekeek!" Matilda laughed, and Edward laughed (well, chortled politely), and Gothique died a little inside. "Honestly, who would name their child that?"

"Someone who felt predetermining my future existence and all things associated with it while I was still just a glint in the milkman's eye was a good idea," Gothique managed to say in an off-handed manner.

Matilda nodded sagely. "Drugs. That explains everything."

"42," Gothique annunciated in solemn tones. "_Any_how," she said, turning to Edward as though Matilda didn't even exist. "Why are you up here?"

"I live here," Edward replied, eyes cast downward in some remembered sadness. Matilda looked around, a small spark of curiosity in her eyes as she observed what lay beyond the serene little Eden the girls had tramped into. It was, much like it appeared from a distance, a spooky old house. You couldn't get anymore southern Gothic than that.

"That sucks," she decided. It pretty much summed up the others' thoughts as well. Gothique turned her eyes to her.

"Why are _you_ here?"

"Trimming the hedges," she replied in all seriousness. Edward looked a little taken aback, as he didn't think the hedges needed any more trimming.

"Trimming the trimmer's already trimmed hedges," Gothique replied with a note of disbelief.

"Fine. Don't believe me. Either way I'll be taking my leave; Mummy wants me home for lunch." She snatched her scissors back from Gothique and turned away, adding in farewell, "We should have tea, sometime, Edward." Matilda slipped between the gates, disappearing as readily as a vandalistic girl, which seemed pretty apt if the extra cut leaves on the ground were any indication.

Gothique checked her watch. It was nearing three o'clock. When she looked up again, Edward was looking expectantly at her. "What?" she asked, thinking she had missed something.

"What about you?" he repeated, speaking a little louder as she apparently hadn't heard the first time.

"What about me? Oh! Why am _I_ here? I was feeling adventurous. Give a girl some rules, after all, and she'll be bound and determined to break every single one of them."

"Um. . ." Edward said, tucking his hands behind his back and shuffling a foot. "Could you -- could you not mention me to anyone? And ask Ms. Matilda not to either?" he finished awkwardly.

Gothique cocked her head to the side. "Why? You're not supposed to be here?" Edward did an odd little shrug-nod type movement. "Well, neither am I, and I don't think she was, either. This will be our little secret, 'kay?"

"Okay," he agreed readily. Gothique nodded, said a short goodbye, and ran to find Matilda and deliver the message.

The girl was taking her sweet time, meandering down the road and snipping an occasional bud from low-hanging limbs. Gothique jogged up beside her, then slowed to match her pace. "Hey."

Matilda glanced over then closed her scissors around the stem of a leaf, closing the blades in a more pronounced fashion than necessary. Gothique took this as a sign to continue. "Edward doesn't want anyone to know he's there, okay? Think you can manage that?"

"Of course I can. The question is: can you?"

"Yeah, I'll come up with something," Gothique said vaguely. For once, though, she was a step ahead, and revised her earlier question. "Okay, you can, but _will_ you?"

They walked along in relative silence, only a slight metal hiss accompanying them. At the base of the hill, Matilda said, "Sure."

Gothique walked Matilda to her pale blue house. On the way, she stated. "That was a bit surreal," to which Matilda made a humming, understating agreement.

"Just a tad."

They parted on slightly more amiable terms. After all, nothing binds better than a shared secret.

At her own house, Gothique noted that no vehicle was in Joyce's driveway, so proceeded to use the front door. Joyce met her in the living room with a glass of lemonade. "Where were you?" she asked with the barest hint of suspicion.

"Oh, out and about." Gothique waved her hand to demonstrate, then took the offered drink.

"At the mansion?"

"No." Mentally, she congratulated herself on how casual she sounded. Joyce reached forward and plucked something from her hair while Gothique did so; then she cleared her throat. Gothique stared hatefully at the leaf before her. "Oh."

"Yes, 'oh.'" Joyce managed to convey the sentiment of disappointment and forthcoming punishment in those two words. Obviously she wouldn't believe Gothique had been playing soldier in the rhododendrons.

"You're good," Gothique observed. "If it makes you feel better, I _did_ make friends with that girl that just moved here. She was up there, too. Quite the 'co-ink-e-dink.'" She frowned as she finished, realizing she sounded rather like the hated school councilor. Either way, her statement didn't really appease Joyce. "My bad?" Gothique tried with a mental wince. Now she sounded _exactly_ like the councilor. To take her train of thought off that track, she sipped at the lemonade. Homemade was the best made, she decided.

"And what's her name?" Joyce asked, heels clicking as she stepped into the kitchen.

"Matilda Hedera."

"Huh. I thought it was Henry." Joyce and Gothique definitely shared genes

* * *

A/N: This probably isn't even close to what was expected or wanted, but I hope Joyce and Edward aren't too OOC. Plus, I don't think there are actually any anachronisms. Go me! Flames accepted; reviews wanted; concrit loved. 


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Disclaimed. What little that is recognizable is copyrighted by Tim Burton, Caroline Thompson, Fox and so on.

* * *

A few days passed with no contact from either Matilda or Edward, until one sunny afternoon when the former showed up on the latter's doorstep. Practice had let out early, so Joyce had volunteered Gothique to help her wash her car as part of her punishment. It came as no surprise that Matilda knew where Gothique lived, as she and Joyce were serenading the neighbourhood with a stirring rendition of Dolly Parton's "Nine to Five" while they worked. As neither of them worked nine to five, or worked at all (which seemed to be the case for even Joyce), they couldn't relate to the song. But it sure was fun to sing. 

Things had been a little strained since Gothique so readily broke the rules, but Joyce and she had mended their relationship surprisingly quickly. Despite her age, or rather because of it, Joyce seemed better suited to being a flat mate than an aunt. It worked to Gothique's advantage, either way.

In the middle of a rather complicated twirl on the soapy pavement Gothique nearly collided with Matilda. She stumbled, slipped, and fell in a decidedly ungraceful fashion onto her rump. Matilda crossed her arms and looked down her nose at Gothique. From her position on the ground, Gothique could see that she had a suitcase with her, and had set it down for the sole purpose of playing superiour.

Joyce came over to introduce herself as Gothique sat up, dusting gravel and dirt off her scrapped hands. "Hello, I'm Joyce, Gothique's aunt," she said, offering a hand and smiling. Matilda looked between the two and backed up a little.

"I can see the resemblance," she noted. "I'm Matilda. May Gothique come out to play?"

Joyce looked between the two -- Matilda's look of polite disinterest and Gothique's smile and bobble-head nod -- before saying, "I just need to rinse off the car, so sure." So long as Gothique was with someone else, and Matilda looked like the responsible type, Joyce figured she'd be fine. It was also so nice to see she had made a friend in the neighbourhood; Helen had mentioned that Gothique seemed a little out of place, and if she thought that, then everyone thought the same. Things just worked that way in Suburbia.

"Thanks!" Gothique all but bounded away to put away her sponges and wash buckets.

Joyce and Matilda looked at each other for a moment before Joyce asked, "What are you doing?"

Matilda picked up her suitcase. "Having a tea party."

"Oh!" Joyce clapped her hands at the idea. "Do you have snacks? You could make it a picnic."

The girl seemed to consider this for a moment, then shrugged. "Sure. All I have are some scones Mummy made a few days ago."

Joyce turned around and called, "Don't worry about those, Gothique! I'll put them away later. Would you like to come in?" she added over her shoulder to Matilda. "It'll just take a moment to make some sandwiches."

Gothique joined the two at the front door, where she and Joyce took off their wet shoes. "What're we doing?" she asked Matilda as the girls took a seat in the living room. Joyce disappeared into the kitchen to make their food.

"Having a tea party," Matilda repeated, this time with a tone of subtext.

It took Gothique a moment to get it. "Oh! I didn't think you actually meant it."

"Of course I meant it. Why wouldn't I?" She looked slightly put-off.

"Do you like guarana soda, Matilda?" Joyce sang from the kitchen, where cabinets and the refrigerator could be heard opening and closing.

"Gua-what?"

"Don't worry," Gothique said kindly, "You'll like it. We'll take some, Aunt Joyce." Suddenly she stood up. "I'm going to go change, 'kay?"

"Okay."

It only took a moment for Gothique to change, and she came hopping out of her room still pulling on one of her black granny boots. In her other hand was a Polaroid camera. Matilda cast a critical gaze over her choice of outfits and asked, "Are we having tea on you?"

"What? No! I like this outfit," she finished in a weak defense, holding the green checkered hem away from her body.

"It's definitely picnic-y," Matilda conceded.

"I like to think of it as linen chic," Gothique said as Joyce motioned her into the kitchen. She came back out with a wicker picnic basket, the camera balanced atop it. "Okay, let's go."

Joyce joined them at the door, holding it open for them. "Don't go up to the -- you know what? Never mind. Even if I tell you not to, you will. Just don't go inside." She figured it couldn't be more dangerous than any other condemned building, now that that horrible Edward was dead. Unless they found the body. She shrugged off the thought.

"Thank you," Gothique said cheerfully as she and Matilda walked up the road instead of doubling back like she had before.

"'Bye, Miss Joyce," Matilda said belatedly without looking to see if she was still at the door.

They walked up the road, though the journey was a long one due to their respective carry alongs. At the gate, Matilda pulled up a few of the vines by their roots so they could open it wider and slipped inside. The courtyard was bright and beautiful as before, and the sun was shining almost directly overhead.

"Edward?" Matilda called, setting her suitcase against a bench. Gothique followed suit when they didn't get a reply. Then they walked up to the entrance and poked their heads inside. Gothique sneezed, and couldn't stop even as they went into the dark, expansive front room. Matilda poked around the machinery until she reigned them in, clutching her nose.

"I t'ink my brain's leaking out," Gothique observed nasally. A moment more and she said more clearly, "Edward? Are you here?"

"Let's go up there," Matilda said, pointing to some gravity-defying stairs that curled up to a second level. Gothique sniffled, then ran to catch up.

The girls stepped onto the landing, where a brisk breeze was blowing through the gaping holes in the ceiling. "Neat-o," Gothique said, walking over to the opening and peering down on a different part of the courtyard. Matilda was reading an old article about a boy with no eyes while she leaned over what appeared to be a shoddy little bed area.

"Hello?" Edward said from the top step, causing Gothique to jump. Matilda looked over her shoulder.

"Hello, Edward. We were looking for you."

"You have a great view," Gothique added, wandering away from the edge.

"Thank you. Why are you here?" he asked congenially.

Matilda stood and clapped her hands once. "Why, to have tea, of course! Our things are outside."

"Tea? But I. . ." he motioned vaguely with his hands, wiggling the scissors for emphasis.

"I brought straws."

Gothique squeaked when Edward moved, finally noticing that the scissors weren't a fashion statement. He looked at her, a modicum confused, and Matilda rolled her eyes before easing her way behind Edward and down the stairs. "Come on, Miss Oblivious, help me set up. We'll call you when everything's ready, Edward." He made a small noise of objection, so Matilda added, "Think of it as a surprise party that you already know about."

* * *

A/N: Everything's still in the proper timeline! Also, there's a flaw in my POV, but I'll just say that it adds to the story. Sure. Flames, review, concrit all accepted. Also, by midnight tonight (U. S. eastern time), I should have pictures of Gothique and Matilda up on my LJ, boneflour(dot)livejournal(dot)com. 


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: Disclaimed. What little that is recognizable is copyrighted by Tim Burton, Caroline Thompson, Fox and so on.

* * *

Prancing evasively around Edward and his hands, Gothique practically jumped onto the step Matilda occupied. Though neither could see, Edward looked a little hurt at the movements. Once on the ground-floor, Matilda swatted Gothique upside the head. At her indignant cry, Matilda muttered, "Aren't you peppy sort supposed to be kind?" 

"What?"

They had made their way back out to their things, and Matilda knelt before hers, popping the top open. "How would you feel if people were afraid of your fashion sense?"

Gothique picked up the clothe for their picnic and began scouting out an area to open it. As she snapped it in the air over an old, stone table hidden behind a sea serpent, she replied. "I don't think my clothes can really be compared to his hands. . . but I see your point. Point. Heheh." She giggled at her own pun.

"Oh, please. Donna Karen would have a conniption." Matilda came over with a tall jar of water, a clothes pin, and several bags of tea with paper tabs. She set the jar on the checkered clothe and opened it, then clipped together the strings and dunked the bags in the water. She held the clothespin and strings beside the jar as she screwed the top back on.

"What's that?"

"You can't very well have a tea party without tea. This is 'sun tea'," she explained as she walked away, then came back with a platter of assorted tea things. "Now shouldn't you go get your sandwiches and pop?"

"Oh, yeah!" Instead of moving things piece by piece like Matilda was doing, she brought back the entire basket. "Do. . . do you think I ought to apologize?"

"Nonsense! The poor boy's probably accustomed to people wigging out," Matilda said while she set out three places, each with a straw and upside-down cup.

"Your sarcasm's leaking," Gothique pointed out, setting a cellophane wrapped plate of cut sandwiches in the center of the table along with a box of powdered doughnuts. She added a soda pop to each place setting, leaving the rest of the six-pack next to the food

"Whoops," Matilda said unapologetically, adding her own tin of scones to the assortment of food and drink.

"You don't seem to find it at all strange that Edward has scissor hands." Gothique made clipping motions with her fingers.

"I was also under a bench, snipping his bushes with some house scissors," Matilda pointed out. "I don't think I'm really up to judging who is and isn't strange."

"True, that," Gothique said, then observed their handiwork. "Want me to go get him?"

Matilda took a seat, folding her skirt beneath her. "Sure. Let you prostrate yourself without me embarrassing you."

"Think I actually need to do that?" Gothique paused, considering it.

"If you had been a little more considerate to begin with, that wouldn't even be a question." When Gothique glared at her, she thew her hands up. "Good grief, how should I know? I don't make it a habit to do things I regret."

"Yeah, yeah. I get it already." Gothique waved agitatedly at Matilda before circling the serpent and heading back into the building. She bounded up the stairs to Edward's room, but he had left it again. Going down in much the same fashion, she halted at the base to look around the main room. Another set of stairs, more firmly grounded and shorter, were beyond the first.

"Edward?" Gothique asked, leaning into the small room at the end of a narrow hallway. The room had low shelves of books and dusty pictures scattered on the walls and surfaces. A few books were in tatters on the ground.

He started, blades clacking against the pane before him, and looked over his shoulder at her. "Lunch is ready," she explained. Edward gave a small sigh, turning away from her again. She approached, hesitantly at first, but then with more resolve. Peeking around his arm, Gothique saw Matilda singing and tapping her foot to some unheard beat. Several verses floated to them from some broken panes.

"I'm in love with an ostrich.

All the neighbours complainin', you see,

But she loves me.

Can't help if they don't understand it!"

While she could sing passably well, the lyrics were enough to raise eyebrows. Gothique turned her attention from that to look up at Edward. Somehow he still managed to look forlorn with someone carolling about bestiality. She forced herself to not consider his hands (or Matilda loving an ostrich), then mentally hit herself for reminding herself about them. Gothique gingerly put her hand on his elbow.

She was one of those touchy-feelie sorts (kind of a prerequisite for cheer leading), and hoped it would make her apology seem more heartfelt. It was completely heartfelt, but sometimes that was hard to convey. "Hey, look. . . I didn't mean to freak earlier," she began once he turned his eyes to her. "I mean, I don't have a problem with you having cutlery for fingers; I just didn't think that they were before. . . fingers, that is. Like gloves or something, maybe," she babbled, stepping away from Edward as he turned to look at her fully. Gothique raised her hands and flexed them to demonstrate. "Anyhow, that just caught me off guard, and I tend to leap before I look, so to speak. Kind of like right now, actually." She laughed sheepishly. "I'll just be shutting up, now."

Edward gave her a small, forced smile. "Thank you," he said. "I understand it's. . . strange." A pained expression flitted over his features, but Gothique wisely chose to act upon her last statement. He stepped around her and disappeared quickly through the door.

Gothique took this time to glance over the room's contents more thoroughly, sniffling a bit at the irritants. The shredded ones consisted of a limericks compilation and a book on etiquette. She straightened from those to look over the shelves. Science texts and journals were interspersed amoung children's books and the classics. A photograph at eye-level showed a young man with a straight, regal nose and piercing eyes, his arm looped through an aristocratic looking woman's in greyscale; another male, significantly younger, was off to the side, apparently unaware that he was in the shot. The woman and Edward shared several features that Gothique could distinguish through the dust.

Movement outside drew her eyes to the window, where Edward was just entering the framed view. Quickly she ducked out of the room and ran out and around the building to join them. After apologizing, it wouldn't do to have to repeat it for snooping.

* * *

A/N: This seemed much longer than it actually is because I kept getting distracted. That was partly due to _new_ pictures of Matilda and Gothique, coloured and digitally remastered or something at boneflour(dot)livejournal(dot)com. Also, the song Matilda's singing is an actual one, also one of my favourites. Everything else is cut-and-paste. 


End file.
